Wave of Terror

by Theodore Odrach

  The headmaster urged him on. “Go ahead and take one.”

  Ohrimko hesitated a moment and then popped an orange candy into his mouth, all the while keeping an eye on the headmaster. He was certain something big and painful was about to happen to him, and soon. No one received candy for punishment; that just did not happen. The headmaster was merely toying with him before moving in for the kill.

  And sure enough, barely a minute had passed when, pacing the room, the headmaster all at once turned on him with a scowl. His tone was stern and abrupt.

  “Ohrimko, do you enjoy being a bully? Do you enjoy teasing others and cracking their knuckles? Do you? Why don’t you answer me? Very well then, I’ll answer for you. I believe you do not. That’s why I want to discuss something with you today. I want to give you a job—a very important job. I realize everyone says you’re a troublemaker, but I disagree, I feel deep down you’re capable of better things, much better. And I’m willing to give you a chance. But first I must have your full cooperation. What I propose to do is make you chief of your class. Your job will be to make sure none of your classmates get out of hand, and if they do, you must report to me immediately. I want you to take this assignment very seriously. Do you think you can handle it?”

  The boy’s mouth dropped open. He had expected a lot of things, a thrashing, expulsion, but class chief? Drawing a long, deep breath, he scrambled to respond. Things couldn’t have turned out better. Of course he would be class chief, and of course he would make a good one, probably the best. Why, he already had a considerable following among both boys and girls, and to keep them all in line would not only be easy, but great fun. Hah, if someone dared not to listen to him, he’d show them! And suddenly he began to think of himself as rather important. There was no one who even came close to rivaling his qualities in strength and leadership. He thought, The headmaster sees I’m strong and I have the power to make everyone afraid of me. I already have the class under my thumb, so I’m the natural choice for class chief.

  “Well, Ohrimko.” The headmaster looked at him from under his brows. “What will it be?”

  “Yes, I can do it,” he shouted.

  Kulik smiled slightly at the boy, pleased his plan was starting to take effect. “I knew you would agree to my proposition, young man. Keep in mind, being chief is no easy matter. You must set a good example to the rest of the class at all times. You must be the paramount influence. For example, you can’t get into any more fights, or beat up girls, or cause trouble for the teacher. It’s important for you to listen and show respect to Haya Sruleyevna. You are not to threaten her in any way. Don’t hang your head, young man, we all learn from our mistakes. And one last thing: you are behind in your lessons. You must work hard to catch up to the rest of the children. Why, little Tolik already knows the entire alphabet, and by heart. If you apply yourself you can overtake him easily. Chief of the class must surpass everyone in all respects.”

  Ohrimko screwed up his mouth and gulped hard. The headmaster’s plan was beginning to take on a sour note—it was definitely more than he had bargained for. True, he looked forward to keeping his classmates in line, but the part about doing his homework didn’t appeal to him one bit. On even his better days, he didn’t enjoy listening to what was going on around him in class, and he had no desire to work through his arithmetic or spelling drills. Suddenly, being class chief didn’t look as appealing as it had a moment ago.

  When the recess bell rang, the headmaster called all the second graders together and made his announcement: Ohrimko Suchok was to become class chief. Shocked and shaken, the boys and girls banded together to raise their objections. Desperately they pleaded with the headmaster to reconsider. They argued it was completely unfair to grant Ohrimko the upper hand; it would only give him license to terrorize them, without being held accountable by anyone but himself.

  When this news reached Haya Fifkina, she couldn’t believe her ears. She was completely beside herself with anger. After having launched a formal complaint to the People’s Commissariat against Ohrimko Suchok and before even receiving a response from them, she was furious to learn that the headmaster had gone and appointed him class chief. Ohrimko was a belligerent child, her worst pupil, and if anything, deserved a good thrashing, certainly not a pat on the back. She was convinced this was all some kind of plot to drive her out of the school for good. She vowed to take this additional information to the authorities in Pinsk, in the hope that it would strengthen her case against Kulik.

  The very next day, entering her classroom, prepared for disaster, Haya Fifkina was completely taken aback to see that the children were not shoving and lunging at one another or yelling in rough, teasing voices—they were lined up behind their desks, their hands folded before them, shouting in unison, “Good morning, Citizen Haya Fifkina!” Haya stared at them suspiciously, then walked over to Ohrimko and looked him straight in the eye. Obviously this impish little brat, who for some reason was pretending to be a model pupil, was responsible for this. He definitely had something up his sleeve. She turned to look at the blackboard. It had not only been scrubbed clean but even polished. On the ledge lay a neatly folded damp cloth and next to it a row of chalk. She didn’t know what to make of any of this.

  “Well, well, children.” She put her hands on her hips. “What a delightful surprise. Thank you. Now please, take your seats.” Feeling immensely pleased, she reached for an exercise book on the far side of her desk, ready to begin the first lesson of the day. Looking up briefly to ensure that order still reigned, she found Ohrimko on the edge of his seat, eagerly waving his hand. He looked confused.

  “Yes, Ohrimko?”

  “Citizen Sruleyevna, I would like to ask you a question, um … er …”

  “Come on, come out with it, boy. Don’t drag your tongue. What is it?”

  “Well, about your lessons. Why can’t you teach us in Ukrainian? We don’t understand anything you say. If you taught us in our own language, then things would be easier for us all.”

  “Oh, rebiatushky, rebiatushky,” Haya waved her hand. “If only I knew how to speak Ukrainian, if only. But not to worry, soon you will come to understand Russian and speak it as though it’s your mother tongue. Then I guarantee everything will flow as smoothly as butter. Today we’ll start our lesson by reviewing the alphabet. Everyone together now: A, B …”

  Following Haya’s voice, the children strove to do their best. Even Ohrimko mouthed letters he had never before pronounced. When Haya assigned a short spelling exercise, the children applied themselves diligently; some even came up with correct answers.

  These improved conditions should have created a better environment in the school as a whole and formed a stronger relationship between teacher and headmaster, but events took a different turn. Haya became more mistrustful of Kulik, was hostile and aloof toward him, and managed to convince herself that with the NKVD on his trail, he was desperate, and had turned the children into exemplary pupils to protect himself. She had heard of these sorts of tricks, tricks used typically by counterrevolutionaries. But what worried her most was that if Kulik succeeded in painting himself in a better light, her life would again become a living hell. Things would go back to the way they were, if not worse. The children would start harassing her in the classroom and on the street again, fights would break out, Ohrimko would become defiant once more, and of course Kulik would go back to spreading anti-Semitism.

  But as the days passed, the children’s performance actually improved. The biggest change came in Ohrimko. He was not only on his best behavior most of the time, but proved a more-than-capable student. He worked doggedly through his additions and subtractions, and was even able to write the letters of the alphabet all the way to the letter ‘t’. And to add to this, he didn’t neglect his chief duties; he took them very seriously. One day when Anastasia stuck out her tongue at him and scribbled something on the wall beside her desk, Ohrimko interrupted the class and escorted her to the headmaster’s office. And when T
olik and Fedko got into a brawl at recess, Ohrimko was there to break it up; he grabbed them both by the scruff of the neck and hurled them in opposite directions. Ohrimko was determined to do the best job he could. He was now at the top of his class.

  Kulik was thrilled with the boy’s progress. He believed that the more a child misbehaved, the greater his cry for help and approval. Scolding, punishment or rejection served only to more firmly entrench this negative self-image. A child, especially a child like Ohrimko, riddled with defenses like aggression, anger and violence, must have his self-worth and self-esteem built up in a constructive way. By appointing him class chief and demonstrating he was worthy of this position, Kulik felt he had turned the boy around. It was no secret that he had a soft spot for him, something Ohrimko was well aware of and took pride in.

  Early one morning, as dawn filtered through the school windows, Kulik sat behind his desk, pen in hand, buried in paperwork. Unable to sleep, he had been up since four that morning, flipping through textbooks, writing reports, and reviewing assignments. With the stove refilled with firewood, the warmth beginning to penetrate the room, he started to grow drowsy. His eyelids became heavy, and in no time he nodded off. When he woke, he glanced at his watch and saw it was only seven forty-five; he had been asleep for no more than a few minutes. The sun was rising on the horizon and soon the school bell would ring.

  As Kulik delved back into his work, he heard noises outside. There was an abrupt screech, followed by the low humming of a motor car. Peering out his window, he was disturbed by what he saw: a big black car parked in front of the school gates. The doors were closed, and the windows were tinted green. It was not an ordinary auto, but an NKVD car; the people called it the “Black Crow.” Black Crows could be seen everywhere these days driving through towns and villages. Kulik had seen many slinking up and down the streets of Pinsk—Sovietskaya, Karalyna, in and around Market Square, at first only in the dark of night, then eventually in broad daylight. They never seemed to rest, stopping only briefly in the rear of NKVD headquarters to dump off their load of victims before returning for more.

  Was the Black Crow coming to get him? Openly, in daylight? He backed away from the window and waited. He heard the car doors open and slam shut, and the sound of voices, then footsteps coming closer and closer. They were already in the school, walking down the corridor, gradually and evenly, coming to get him. And suddenly there it came, the dreaded knock on the door. On the threshold stood three men: Yeliseyenko, Iofe Nicel Leyzarov and Simon Stepanovich Sobakin.

  Sobakin stood in the middle, with Iofe Nicel on his left and Yeliseyenko to his right. Without moving, dressed in heavy gray overcoats and knee-high leather boots, they cast quick glances around the room. There was a constrained silence that seemed to last forever. Finally Kulik blurted, “Welcome to the school, comrades.”

  Sobakin pushed his way into the room. “Good morning, Comrade Kulik.” He spoke brusquely; the visor of his cap was pulled down over his forehead and shaded his eyes. “We’ve come on official state business. We’re conducting an investigation of the school and would like to see your documents, pass books, and your teaching certificate.”

  Kulik pulled a folder from the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet and handed it to Sobakin, who examined every page carefully, deliberated briefly, and passed them on to Leyzarov.

  “Hm …” Leyzarov muttered, scratching his head. “Yes, everything appears to be in order.” He scanned the last page, and to Kulik’s great alarm, quickly folded the documents in half and slipped them into his satchel.

  “Now, Comrade Kulik,” Sobakin again, “we’d like you to accompany us on an inspection of your school. We trust you’re running it in true Soviet fashion and that everything is in accordance with Soviet law.” Turning, he stepped out into the corridor, paused, and set out to the right, with Leyzarov and Yeliseyenko close behind. Kulik trailed by a few steps.

  In the corridor, they stopped to examine the bulletin board. They seemed pleased with it. At the top of the board, in the center, was a large picture of Stalin, and directly below it an article on a recent demonstration in Red Square. On the left was a list of about twenty honored kolkhoz workers from the region.

  The men moved on to the grade two classroom. Haya Fifkina stood before the blackboard, giving instruction in arithmetic. Today, in a navy skirt and a freshly ironed white cotton blouse, with her hair twisted back in a loose braid, she looked particularly presentable. Using thick, bold strokes she carefully and slowly wrote 12+9=? Holding a ruler in her left hand and tapping her right with it, she called out:

  “Who knows the answer? Georgi?”

  No answer.

  “Tolik?”

  From somewhere a thin little voice: “Twenty-one.”

  “Very good, Tolik.” Turning back to the board, Haya proceeded to write 14+11=? “Who knows the answer? Ohrimko?”

  Ohrimko winced and fidgeted in his seat. He stared down at his hands with great intensity and started counting with his fingers. Finally he looked up and said, “Twenty-five.”

  “Good. Very good.”

  It was when Haya was writing another equation on the board, that she noticed the three government officials standing in the doorway. Their unexpected appearance completely frazzled her, and she gasped and jumped back, knocking against her desk. She had no idea how long they had been watching her, and being caught unawares made her not only nervous but incapable of thinking straight. She went off into a frantic giggle. Not having the slightest idea of what to say, grasping at anything, she lost all self-control, pointed to the back of the class and shouted:

  “That’s him! That’s the culprit I wrote you about! That’s Ohrimko Suchok!”

  The children watched her with confused delight, chattering loudly and poking each other. Laughter broke out. One little boy fell off his seat and started to cry, while another sent a slate flying across the room. The class was now in complete uproar.

  “Comrade Haya!” Sobakin, stamped his foot in a show of outrage. “Please, collect yourself and get on with your lesson.” Then turning sternly to the pupils, “Quiet! Quiet in the class!”

  Taking long, deep breaths, the more Haya tried to calm herself, the more shaken up she became. The children had now gone completely wild and there was no way to calm them.

  “Children! Children!” She clapped her hands, trying desperately to restore order. “We are now going to review the alphabet. Repeat after me, A B …” Trembling and gasping, suddenly she broke off. Tears gushed down her cheeks, and she wanted only to escape from the room. Then to her great relief, the bell rang. It was recess. She was saved. The children quickly gathered their belongings, formed a line against the wall, and exited the room.

  Leyzarov turned to Haya seriously.

  “Comrade Haya, I would like to talk to you. We’re here today because we have a deposition from you. In it you accuse the headmaster of subversive activity and anti-Semitism. You claim he promotes these sentiments in both the school and throughout the village. Is that not correct?”

  “Yes,” she squeaked out.

  “Do you have proof of your charges?”

  “Yes.”

  She started to revive. Her voice became stronger, more self-assured. “Yes, I do, as a matter of fact. The children harass me on the street and in the school. They call me beanpole and hurl snowballs at me. Several weeks ago they drew crosses across the classroom floor with chalk to scare me and mock me. They wanted to see if I, a Jewess, would dare touch one with my foot.”

  Then breaking down, she began to cry. “The feelings of anti-Semitism are deep-rooted here, no doubt about it, and Comrade Kulik does nothing to smooth them out. On the contrary, the children are not only being encouraged to hate Jews, but they’re being taught acts of subversion.”

  “Tell me, Haya,” Sobakin said sharply, “these children who harass you, are they from your class or from the higher grades too? Now let me see. What about this Ohrimko Suchok? I believe he’s a second grad
er?”

  “Yes, and he’s the worst of them all. I wrote to you about him. He’s cunning and deceitful and doesn’t obey any rules. He’s like a wild animal. He sits right over there!”

  Sobakin smiled condescendingly. “Your charges are certainly reasons for concern, but it appears to me the real problem lies not in the children, but in your inability to control them. You’re the teacher and therefore you and not the headmaster are responsible for your pupils. From what I see of the situation, you haven’t established any kind of rapport with the children. To put it simply, you’ve failed to earn their respect.”

  Haya’s eyes bulged and she shot back hotly, “If I’m responsible for my class, then why did our good headmaster Kulik interfere with my instruction and appoint Ohrimko Suchok class chief? How is it, I ask, that the most unruly pupil in the entire school suddenly attains the most honorable and entrusted position? What have you to say about that?”

  Kulik had been standing near the door. Haya had just launched a most dangerous assault against him and he knew he had to move quickly to defend himself. He hastily stepped before the officials.

  “Allow me to straighten this matter out, comrades. In the first place, I’m not a subversive of any kind or an anti-Semite, for that matter. The very notion is absurd and repulsive to me. As you can see for yourselves, everything in the school is run and has been run in strict conformity with Soviet policy. Haya Sruleyevna is at odds with me for making the worst pupil in the entire school chief of his class. Perhaps I acted in haste, I admit, but since the boy responded to no measure of discipline, I decided to run a sort of experiment—one of positive reinforcement, so to speak, one that would encourage him to attain a higher level of importance and self-esteem. And if I may say so myself, it’s been a great success.” Then turning to Haya, looking directly at her, “Tell me, honestly, Comrade Haya, after the incident with the crosses, did Ohrimko’s behavior worsen or improve? Why, wasn’t it just yesterday that you came into my office with only good things to say about him?”